MFMH C82

Chapter 82 — Disaster Relief

Shen Yanbei had never expected that soon after enjoying one bout of glory, he would be swept into another. The manner of the honor, however, was somewhat different. The last time he paraded through the city as the top scholar, it was the fruit of his own merit; this time…

Well, he had simply been labelled one of the emperor’s favorites.

A Hanlin compiler held the junior sixth rank; even though a capital post ranked slightly above provincial posts, it was still a lowly office. Never in history had an imperial commissioner been drawn from such a low rank. But what manner of man was Zhao Yu? He had already made Gu Changfeng—who by rights should have inherited a marquisate—into the heir of the Duke of Zhen’s house; elevating Shen Yanbei from a sixth-rank compiler to an imperial commissioner was trivial for him.

Thus Shen Yanbei was promoted. In an instant he leapt from a sixth-rank Hanlin compiler to a fifth-rank Hanlin academician.

On paper it looked like a single step up, yet the speed of the promotion was unprecedented—Shen Yanbei had been in the Hanlin Academy only months. The Hanlin was a place of seniority; promotions usually required vacancies ahead, a patient climb up the ladder. Normally, Shen Yanbei would have expected his first real promotion only a year later—from sixth-rank compiler to regular sixth-rank instructor—and becoming an academician would have taken two to three more years. His sudden jump had leapfrogged others by three years; who but an imperial favorite could pull that off?

Of course people dared not openly doubt the emperor, but discontent simmered. Those who had waited years as sixth-rank instructors and reader-attendants watched the academician’s seat with covetous eyes. Why should he come in and take the place? What right had he?

Every Hanlin official possessed deep learning; many felt their seniority and experience outweighed this newcomer. Voices of opposition rose at court—especially the conservative faction led by the old chancellor who believed young men should be steady and not indulge in unrealistic ambitions.

Faced with the criticism, Zhao Yu dismissed it with cold words: “I want talent who can do real work for the state and the people, not bookish pedants who only play with language. An essay, however fine, is no substitute for a method that makes the fields yield bumper harvests.”

“Compiler Shen cares for the people and devised a way to increase crop yields, allowing southern provinces to rejoice in abundant harvests; I therefore promote him to Hanlin academician as reward.”

Rising from his seat, he cast a steely glance across the ministers on the dais and continued in a flat tone: “If any of you ministers have similarly brilliant ideas, speak them now and the court shall reward you handsomely.”

The ministers were stunned: the method that produced bumper rice harvests in the south had come from the top scholar himself? None dared object thereafter.

An attendant, acting on the emperor’s sign, took the imperial edict that appointed Shen Yanbei as imperial commissioner and read it aloud before the court.

Everyone suddenly understood the emperor’s true purpose and turned their gaze toward the young man kneeling in the Golden Throne Hall. The slender, refined youth held the edict but showed no outward delight—only composure. That very steadiness impressed onlookers.

Was Shen Yanbei as calm inside as he seemed? No one believed that entirely.

The senior ministers flanking the throne wore robes embroidered with cranes, pheasants, tigers, or leopards—minimally fourth-rank. Shen Yanbei’s husband was the heir apparent of the Duke of Zhen’s household and destined to inherit a first-rank peerage; to stand together at court would mean Shen Yanbei needed the rank that authorized an audience—essentially fourth-rank. The current chancellor had himself risen from the fifth-rank Hanlin to a fourth-rank ministerial post over five years in a career; the comparison made Shen Yanbei dizzy.

Reality brutally clarified his situation. He had never been overly ambitious, but now he saw the truth: his husband had already gone ahead, while he could not even stand at the threshold of the court.

He gritted his teeth. Entering the Golden Throne Hall for the first time, Shen Yanbei smiled faintly while feeling dozens of ambiguous stares.

How does one rise by rank? Aside from seniority, merit mattered most—oh, and connections helped, too.

Fine. He could produce merit; as for connections, he needed none other than the most useful tie in the realm.

After court, custom dictated that higher-ranked officials depart first. Shen Yanbei, the lowest in rank, stood to the side waiting until the ministers had left. The chancellor, however, turned and approached him.

“My lord chancellor,” Shen Yanbei bowed.

The chancellor, himself from humble origins, empathized with the common people’s delight when a bountiful harvest came. He was surprised but approving that Shen Yanbei had devised a method to help the populace. Still, he thought the young man a little impetuous and stooped to give him a few words of counsel: “When you go to Min Prefecture, remember to save the people from suffering. Do not consort with greed, anger, or ignorance.”

Shen Yanbei accepted the admonition humbly: “Yes; this servant will keep it in mind.”

The chancellor felt the youth was teachable and departed. The other ministers dispersed. Zhang Youzheng, lingering behind, passed Shen Yanbei and with a meaningful tone said, “Min Prefecture has quakes, landslides, and broken roads—Master Shen, be cautious.”

Shen Yanbei smiled and replied, “Thank you for the reminder.” His sudden promotion meant many eyes would watch him; if his work succeeded, rewards would follow; if it failed, these men would have fodder to criticize.

Zhang Youzheng stroked his beard, satisfied. He cherished talent—having read Shen Yanbei’s essays earlier he believed the youth had great promise. Shen Yanbei had been upright and had not privately courted patrons, so Zhang could not overtly recruit him, but a nudge of advice was proper.

A junior eunuch stepped forward: “Master Shen, the emperor requests your presence.”

Shen Yanbei entered the imperial study and found Zhao Yu standing with his hands behind his back. Pale and composed, the emperor granted him leave of the usual bow and had him seated.

“The earthquake damage is severe; how will you stabilize the aftermath, Master Shen? Do you have a plan?” The Great Qi was a young state and had not endured such catastrophic quakes before. Though Zhao Yu had appointed Shen Yanbei as imperial commissioner and assigned the relief silver to him, he still wanted to test how Shen handled emergencies.

“Displaced citizens require temporary shelters, with medicines, clothing, and food supplied to the elderly, weak, women, and infants,” Shen responded. “To avoid riots and looting, we can organize relief work—let able-bodied men labor in reconstructing shelters and receive pay in kind. After large disasters epidemics commonly follow; we must perform proper disposal of corpses to prevent disease.”

In a prior life, Shen Yanbei had witnessed an earthquake response in modern times: the entire nation mobilized, food and supplies rushed in, medicines and essentials delivered with speed, and countless volunteers offering comfort. In this ancient context he had not yet seen the site and could only outline a broad plan.

He added, thinking further: “We must prepare for epidemic prevention and arrange for corpses to be handled promptly.”

Zhao Yu frowned slightly. “Order the Imperial Medical Bureau to send eight chief physicians to go with you. I shall issue you a decree and authorize you to requisition grain and medicine from neighboring prefectures as you see fit.”

Shen Yanbei fervently praised the emperor: “Your wisdom is unmatched.”

Without delay, Shen Yanbei entrusted the tavern renovation and the farmwork to Su Qingze, tidied his things, and set off the next day by water under the escort of the imperial guards bound for Liuyang Prefecture.

After his departure, the whole capital understood then that Shen the academician was more than a gifted writer—he was a rare breed of civil scholar who knew both letters and agriculture.

To Shen, farming was nothing shameful. If only his husband were here—how lovely to farm together and return home. But his husband was many miles away, likely already at the frontier.

He shook himself and set off to meet Prince Jinyang. Shen had only met the prince once before—at the old Mrs. Su’s sixtieth birthday when the prince and his consort had come uninvited.

The prince’s earlier interest in his husband still rankled Shen. He wondered whether that same bothersome prince and his consort, and her brother, had caused trouble in the disaster zone.

Outside Min Prefecture, Prince Jinyang led the Liuyang prefect, the Min Prefecture magistrate, and a host of officials to receive Shen: “Master Shen, you have traveled far!”

The prince looked weary; the earthquake’s devastation weighed on him. Shen smiled and dismounted: “It was no trouble.”

“You have come so far—by land and river—this prince should host a banquet to welcome you, but the situation is pressing…” The prince’s face was awkward with concern. “Please do not be offended.”

Shen waved it off. He ordered the relief silver to be secured in the prefectural granary under guard and instructed the imperial troops to guard the funds against theft. Then, accompanied by the prince and others, he toured the inner city.

The devastation matched the prince’s reports: countless collapsed houses, many casualties. The mournful cries along their route nearly drowned their ears.

Refugees, seeing officials in formal robes, crawled forward and kowtowed, pleading for treatment of their wounded. The accompanying chief physician from the Imperial Medical Bureau sought to move among them, but the clamoring multiplied—crowds dragged the physician toward their own injured, pleading for immediate care.

“Chaos!” Prince Jinyang barked, ordering clerks to pull the physician out. Startled, the physician was nearly stripped of his trousers by the crush and looked to Shen in alarm.

“Are temporary medical stations in place?” Shen asked.

“We arranged doctors after the quake, but supplies are limited and quickly exhausted. The herbs borrowed from neighboring prefectures are still en route,” the prince admitted helplessly.

Shen answered, “The emperor ordered me to bring Imperial physicians and a consignment of medicines. Have officials notify families in need to register—old and young first.”

The prince brightened and set men to the task.

It was near midday. At the soup tent they offered rice gruel, but when Shen scooped it up he found almost nothing; grains of rice were scarce.

The prince sighed: “On the second day I had the stores opened and soup distributed, but the provisions have nearly run out. Thankfully you arrived in time.”

Shen’s face remained calm, but his mind was already calculating. He had reached here from the capital in under twenty days; the earthquake had occurred less than one and a half months earlier. The past two years had seen good weather and abundant harvests; granaries in Min and neighboring counties should be full—how could food be exhausted so quickly? Was their consumption consisting of three full rice meals each day plus late-night suppers? Something did not add up.

He observed more closely as they walked.

“You left us, you wretch—left our three to die—you want us to live how?” A disheveled young woman, dirt-smudged and clutching mud-laden hands, lay sobbing on a corpse.

Shen paused and approached. The rescued victim had been dug from the rubble and was covered in ash; the woman’s grief tore at the heart.

The prince stepped forward: “I have decreed that burial costs for the deceased shall be borne by the government. Master Shen need not worry.”

Shen’s expression grew serious. “With the heat rising, epidemic is likely. Human and animal corpses must be disposed of quickly. They should be gathered, disinfected with quicklime, and then buried deeply.”

Prince Jinyang turned to the prefect and commanded him to arrange it. The sun burned; they had missed their meals. The prince invited Shen to dine, but abruptly a footman hurried over and whispered. Prince Jinyang’s face hardened; he apologized and said, “The princess suddenly fainted. I must return to see her.”

He cast a look to the prefect for company, who obliged readily.

Shen smiled and, with several officials, went to eat. Along the way they passed many other grieving families; Shen listened with sympathy but inwardly cursed the prince—how could he have the gall to toy with people’s suffering?